


Reignite

by xCrossbonesx (StarSpangledBucky)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Fantastic Four (Movies 2005-2007), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, Beard Burn, Blow Jobs, Bottom Brock, Brock And His Novelty Shirts, Bucky/Brock Friendship, Charity Auctions, Clubbing, Dad Brock, Dates, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Massages, Mechanic Brock, Misunderstandings, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work (past), Sharing Clothes, Smut, Tattoos, Teacher Jack, Top Jack, Trust Issues, Undercover Cop Jack (past)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10797156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarSpangledBucky/pseuds/xCrossbonesx
Summary: Brock Rumlow’s life as a single father is turned on its head when Jack Rollins comes into the picture. What seems like a first meeting, quickly turns into a memory from a past that Brock hoped to forget. They’ve met before, but not without secrets. Now Jack wants a second chance.





	Reignite

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> This was supposed to be finished and posted in February (that worked well). But here I am in May with the first chapter completed and ready to share. Gift work for kalika_999 for putting up with my shit and being the one to read the little snippets that I'd send now and again <3 
> 
> [Fic gif/photo set](http://x-crossbones-x.tumblr.com/post/158070348387/%E1%83%A6-reignite-hydra-husbands-au-%E1%83%A6-brock-rumlows)
> 
> Additional pairings:  
> Bucky x Johnny  
> Sam x Steve  
> Natasha x Clint  
> Minor Grant x Brock

**May 3rd**

_Brock was so close to harshly kicking Bucky's shin under the table._

They met for lunch at a diner, tucked away in the busy streets of Manhattan. Of course, Brock was the one who had to travel out there, considering Bucky's music studio was only a few blocks away. Bucky managed to leave for an hour or two, thus it was the easiest option for him, for the both of them even. Brock needed a trip to the city anyway, deciding to buy new clothes from his favourite store, one he couldn't find in Brooklyn. If he had a better wage he'd move to Manhattan in an instant, Brooklyn was where he grew up, however Brock tended to desire a change of scenery now and again.

“C’mon Brock, it'll be fun!”

Bucky stared intently at Brock, holding his cup of coffee to his mouth, letting it linger there as he waited for a reply. Brock's irate grunt in response spoke something along the lines of ‘I'm not interested’ or more so in Brock's brash way, _‘fuck off’._ He wasn't one to always say no to things that Bucky suggested. But what he was offering to him at that very moment was something that Brock didn't see the appeal in. Though, Bucky never gave up, he was persuasive, yet in the nicest way possible.

“Why would I wanna’ go watch people bid on guys for a stinkin’ date?” Brock asked, grabbing a handful of fries, before shoving them in his mouth at once.

“‘Cuse you, it's a ladies and gents event. It ain't that bad Rumball,” Bucky said.

“Gimme’ one damn good reason to go to it, kiddo,” he replied.

Bucky frowned.

“It's for a good cause. Y’know, charity and all.”

Brock rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“Besides the fuckin’ obvious.”

“You might see a nice guy and bid on him,” the brunette offered.

“My salary wouldn’t even cover the amount I've heard some bids go for. I'd put at least five hundred or less on someone then some creepy sleaze or an old lady will put their bid in and I'd be screwed.”

Bucky snorted, scrunching his nose up while taking a swig of his coffee.

“The real question...is the sleaze really a creep or a crepe?”

“What the fuck are you talkin’ about,” Brock muttered.

“A creep or a _crepe,_ ” Bucky repeated, pointing to the plate of crepes he'd ordered to eat after his burger.

He earned a deadpan look from Brock, wincing at a sharp pain against his shin, the toe of Brock's heavy duty boots hitting it right on the bone.

“Don't quit your day job, sweetheart.”

“Oh you. Don't gotta’ be all sweet on me Rummy,” he crowed.

Brock scoffed and wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“Keep dreamin’ you little shit.”

Bucky's mouth curved up at the corner while he took a bite from his burger, chewing loudly as if he was doing it right in Brock's ear. Brock shook his head, eliciting a brief chuckle and reaching out with a fresh napkin to wipe Bucky's chin. It was too much of a habit for him to clean up because of messy eaters. He would babysit for friends, which generally required cleaning whenever food and a fussy toddler were involved. To him, Bucky was like an absolute slob during meals, no matter where they went. Even his Nonna would comment on how Bucky's plate looked like a disaster, compared to everyone else's when he was invited over for dinner.

“You're a slob.”

“And you're such a mom, you're cleanin’ my chin for me,” Bucky retorted.

“That's ‘cause it might have fallen on your brand new shirt. Then you'd have to explain why you've got a stain on your shirt. I'm doin’ you a favour.”

“Aw, thanks babe, you're a real good friend,” he chimed, while leaning forward to lightly pat Brock's cheek.

“Cut it out, you dick,” Brock complained, swatting Bucky's hand away.

Silence fell over the pair for a brief moment, the hustle and bustle of the outside world sounding louder than when they engaging in conversation. Brock glanced over at his phone, brow creasing at the empty screen, where a text should have been waiting for him. Bucky’s eyes fell on Brock, the change in his body language all too evident while his patience grew thin. It took Bucky at least half an hour since they’d been to try and calm Brock’s nerves, from what he could see he’d probably need to do it again.

“Still nothin’ from Nic?”

Brock shook his head.

“He told me he’d update me on how he was.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Bucky said.

“Yeah...I guess he will.”

The tone in Brock's voice didn't sway Bucky enough to believe him, he knew his friend was panicking on the inside. Brock's wide, worried eyes didn't go unnoticed either, nor did the sudden nervous clenching of his hand that wasn't holding his coffee. Even then, his hand still shook as he brought the mug to his mouth, brow still creased with three wrinkled lines.

“Damn, we’re gettin’ a high signal for wi-fi in here.”

“Not helpin’ kiddo,” Brock huffed, raking his fingers through his hair, a stray piece falling over his forehead.

“Gimme your phone.”

Why?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Just...give me your fuckin’ phone Brock, don't ask questions,” Bucky demanded, holding his hand out, palm up and making grabbing motions with his fingers.

Brock begrudgingly handed his phone over, slapping it down on Bucky's palm, an annoyed grumble following soon after.

“Don't gotta’ get your underwear in a twist.”

“Not wearin’ any,” the brunette retorted, never glancing up from the phone, not even for a split second.

“Hot.”

His friend chewed down on his bottom lip, peeking st Brock from under his lashes.

“I know, shows off my firm buns.”

Brock snorted, with a weak smile.

“I made you smile. I'm the greatest friend you could ever ask for!”

“You're a fuckin’ child. You have squishy buns by the way, I have the firm buns.” Brock corrected.

Bucky snickered while shrinking back in his seat, thumbing through a lengthy list of contacts before finding _‘Nic’_ under Natasha’s number. He held the phone up to his ear, tapping his fingers to the music playing on the radio while he waited. The familiar click of the call going through after the third ring, drew his attention away from the activity outside and back to Brock, who was fidgeting with his food. Nic’s voice on the other end sounded exhausted, maybe even a little irritated when he answered.

“Nic. Hey buddy, it's Bucky.”

Brock looked up from his food.

“Did you forget to call Brock and let him know how you were?”

A grin spread across his face upon hearing Nic curse at the realisation.

“Yeah he's bein’ his usual, a worry rock.”

Bucky was flipped off for that comment.

“So how are you feelin’? You alright?”

Brock's fingers began anxiously tapping against the table, the nerves trying to swallow any sense of relief for him. Sometimes he had complete control over it, other times he didn't. He was mostly used to feeling that way, caring a lot about the most important people in his life did that to him. Nine times out of ten they reciprocated that mutual feeling with Brock.

“You’re gonna’ be okay. No concussion either, that's good news!”  

Bucky gave Brock a brief thumbs up, before turning his attention back to the phone call, leaning his elbows on the edge of the table. Brock let out a huge sigh of relief, dropping his head into his hands, letting them smooth through his hair afterwards. He watched Bucky absently reach for his coffee, finishing off the remainder of it and lounging back in the seat again.

“Johnny's there with you right?”

The brunette grinned.

“Do your uncle Bucky a favour kiddo and let me speak to him huh? No it's fine, I'm usin’ Brock’s phone remember, it'll go on his bill.”

“You fucker,” Brock hissed, nudging Bucky's foot roughly.

A sly smile crossed Bucky's face as he slid his mug towards Brock, making a pleading face for a refill.

“Jo? Hey babe. Yeah thanks for takin’ Nic to the hospital. I'm at lunch with Brock, keepin’ him from frettin’ about him.”

Brock shook his head with a scoff, turning around to call the waitress over for more coffee, only to stop short, his gaze set on the next customer stepping up to the counter.

“Holy shit…” he breathed out.

Tall, dark and handsome, dressed head to toe in a well tailored suit, _Armani_ , by Brock's well trained eye, ran his order by the waitress, sunglasses propped on his slicked back hair. The neat stubble and small glimpse of green eyes only added to Brock's thorough analysis of him. Everything about him screamed _sophistication_ , but all Brock could think about was being stripped naked, spread across that lap and-

“Brock! Hey, hey. Earth to Rummy!” Bucky interjected, slapping his arm lightly, Brock's phone held away from his ear.

“Huh?” he uttered, glancing back at Bucky.

“What’re you lookin’ at? You look distracted,” the brunette muttered.

Brock spun back around in his seat, staring down at his food which he poked with a fork, his body language failing epically at fooling Bucky.

“Nothin.”

Bucky shook his head with a smirk.

“Bullshit.”

“It's nothin’ Bucky, drop it,” Brock groused.

_“Rollins!”_

_That can't be his name_ Brock thought, shoving a handful of fries in his mouth, despite still having Bucky's full attention on him. It seemed more like a surname than a first name, it still sounded nice falling off the waitress’ tongue with rolled r’s in her accent.

“Thank you.”

Brock groaned quietly at Rollins’ voice, smooth and sophisticated, just like his suit. Now his mind really was going elsewhere, so much so his eyes may as well have rolled to the back of his head while he went to the land of bliss.

“You dog!” Bucky laughed, suddenly.

Taken away from his safe haven of a dirty daydream, Brock eyed Bucky with a confused look on his face…he really had to work on being subtle.

“What!” he squawked.

“You were checkin’ out that guy that just left!”

Brock frowned.

“I wasn’t.”

Bucky slapped his hand on his forehead, before dragging it down his face.

“Really? ‘Cause you looked like you were two seconds away from chasing him down and getting his number so you could jump his bones later.”

“I nev-”

He paused when Bucky shot him a _knowing_ look, eyebrows arching up and down as if they were wiggling at him, the temptation to kick Bucky's shin rising once again.

“Don't think I didn't hear that groan either. Rummy, you're a terrible liar,” Bucky accused.

“I'm not lyin’,” Brock replied.

His gaze moved to the window at the sound of the buzzer on the door, heartbeat quickening at the sight of _‘Rollins’_ again, who stopped outside the window. Bucky's eyes narrowed at his friend as he scoffed loudly, head shaking in disbelief.

“Sure Brock.”

The brunette lifted his hand and rapped his knuckles against the glass, watching Brock's eyes widen out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh my god!” he exclaimed, quickly shifting in his seat again to face the front counter. “Excuse me can we get some coffee over here, thanks!” he called, giving the waitress a small wave.

“Holy shit Brock, he was gorgeous! He even waved and smiled back at me. That makes him an instant ten if he's polite.”

Brock scowled at Bucky over his shoulder, though he shouldn't have expected anything less from him. Bucky had the skills of a social butterfly, whereas Brock did not, unless he was with his own friends. Meeting new people wasn't a tough task for Brock, but he preferred the small circle of friends he had over adding anymore to the mix. That also included potential romantic partners, but even then Brock wasn't interested in that. Then there was mystery man, Rollins, the first guy he'd looked at with a great deal of interest in a long time. He was too busy thinking about that to catch on that Bucky was back on the phone.

“No Jo, it was this guy Brock was lookin’ at that walked in earlier.”

 _Busted_ Brock said to himself, with a snort.

“Babe, you're the most gorgeous man I know, I've only got eyes for you, promise.”

“Can we maybe get a bucket on the side with that coffee. I might throw up,” Brock joked.

Bucky plucked the biggest raspberry from the top of his crepes, throwing it to clock the side of Brock's head, with a pleased grin on his face.

“Ow! You dick, that actually hurt!”

“Quit bein’ an ass then. I'm complimentin’ my boyfriend,” Bucky mused.

Brock made a gagging noise.

“Alright, highschool sweethearts. But you're usin’ my fuckin’ phone remember.”

“Yeah yeah. Nic wants to talk to you anyway,” he said, sliding the phone across the to Brock.

He dragged the plate of crepes over to himself, eyes fixed on Brock, seeing a smile start to spread across his face. Bucky couldn't blame him for being worried about Nic, besides a decent job, Nic was the only thing keeping Brock sane. In the seven years he'd known him, family was the most important thing, and friends who ultimately became family to Brock anyway. If you didn’t screw him over then you were family for life. And Bucky was completely okay with that…

“I’m gonna’ be home in an hour or two. Since I’m in the city I thought I’d stick around and get a few things, maybe bring back some pizza from your favourite shop in Little Italy. That sound okay?” Brock spoke, his voice mellow and relaxed.

Bucky smiled faintly, casting his eyes down to his plate again, wishing somewhere deep in the back of his mind that he might have the same family relationship with his children as Brock did with Nic. Hearing Brock laugh and seeing him smile was enough to send a pang of jealousy through him, even though he knew he had to get his career on track before thinking about settling down. Then there was also the fact of whether he found someone to go on that journey with, himself and Johnny had been together for four years, he also needed to see where that led first.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Brock’s mouth stretched into a grin as he leant forward, with his elbows propped up on the table.

“Yeah, love ya’ too kid. Get some rest.”

Regretful as it may have been, Brock hung up and placed his phone back down on the table. He looked over at Bucky with a grateful smile on his face, Bucky didn't need to ask why he was getting that look, he already knew. In times where Brock only seemed to panic, Bucky was quick to fix it and settle Brock's nerves.

“So…” Bucky uttered, breaking the silence.

“So, what?” Brock answered, pouring more coffee into his mug.

“Are you gonna’ come to the charity auction with me?” he queried.

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose with a shake of his head.

“Bucky.”

The brunette pushed Brock's hand away from his face with a disgruntled huff.

“Brock, this would be a chance for you to get out there and meet someone.”

“I'm forty-three next month kiddo. I think my time’s done,” Brock stated.

“You're fuckin’ with me, right? My aunt is fifty-nine and she goes out on dates tryin’ to find a nice guy to spend the rest of her life with. You aren't on a fuckin’ timer Brock.”

“Ain’t nobody out there who's gonna’ be interested in me,” he drawled.

“When was the last time you had an _actual_ relationship?” Bucky interrogated, throwing his finger up to stop Brock from interrupting. “And don't say Steve, you went on two dates. Or me, we went on three but it didn't really go anywhere,” he added.

Brock stared at Bucky, his jaw slack to emphasise the dumbfounded look on his face.

“We had sex after all three, I think that did go _somewhere!_ ”

“Yeah, thanks for tellin’ the whole diner that,” the brunette groused, watching a few pairs of eyes peer over at them.

“Sorry.”

Bucky smirked.

“You can’t remember the last time you had a steady relationship ‘cause you've never really had one.”

“Well enlighten me. What the fuck am I missin’ out on? What special things do you and Johnny have?” Brock snapped.

“Quit raisin’ your voice, I'm tryin’ to offer input here. Look, I'm not sayin’ you'll think this way, I mean, you do you. But when you find somebody you can be yourself around, someone you connect with, it's the greatest feelin’ ever. Just from personal experience, you get to wake up in the mornin’ and see that person right beside you. Both of you start gettin’ used to a comfortable environment with each other, you learn new things ‘bout each other too. Everyday you know that they're yours and _only_ yours for however long you stay together. Sure, you go through shit, but you're always leanin’ on one another at the end of the day and keepin’ the other from sinkin’. That's just how I see it. I'd prefer findin’ that one person who could complete my life over goin’ from one person to the other and not bein’ happy.”

The truth hurt, yet Brock knew Bucky had the best and most helpful advice out of everyone he knew. He wasn't happy with how things were, Bucky read him like a book once too often. But that was specifically _why_ Brock valued his and Bucky's friendship so much. Bucky was his support at times he was able to be. Though, deep down, Brock knew he couldn't ask so much of one person for the rest of his existence. Somebody had to be out there, if only Brock could shake the doubt that lingered around him, day in, and day out.

“I care ‘bout you Rums, and I hate seein’ you unhappy. You deserve to have someone love you and care for you, like you've done for so many people for years.” Bucky soothed, while he took Brock's hands in his.

Brock nodded and held Bucky's hands tighter.

“I'll go. But I ain't puttin’ a bet on anyone. Unless, I really like the look of any of ‘em...then I'll think about it,” he said.

The brunette's eyes lit up as he grabbed Brock's face and smacked a kiss on his forehead, much to Brock's chagrin.

“You’re gonna’ love it.”

“Yeah, I'll predict that when I'm there,” Brock rebuked.

“Well-” Bucky paused, fishing out his phone to check the time. “...I dunno’ about you, but I gotta’ get back into the studio in ten minutes,” he finished, plucking his credit card from his wallet.

Brock quirked an eyebrow.

“I got this Buck.”

“No. No you don't. You drove out here to meet me, it's my treat,” the brunette retorted.

“C’mon, at least let me pay for my things.”

Bucky was already out of his seat and making his way over to the counter, his hand absently waving for Brock to follow him. He leant against the counter, eyeing Brock who was once again scowling at him, as he did on a regular basis. The brunette laughed as he handed his card over to the waitress, smiling kindly and thanking her for her good service. Brock sidled up to Bucky, before slipping a twenty into the tip jar, then hooking his arm around Bucky's waist.

“Unbelievable.”

“I tell ya’ every time, I gotta’ tip if you shout lunch. No questions asked,” Brock hummed, squeezing the brunette's hip.

“I coulda’ gotten that too.”

“Too late, beat ya’ to it sweetheart,” he chided.

“Aw Rummy, you're too cute,” Bucky mocked, pulling a face.

Brock chuckled as he pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket, heading in the direction of the door.

“I've always been the cute one.”

Bucky grumbled and quickly jabbed his pin in for his card.

“You jerk!” he called after Brock.

“He seems in a better mood than most other days.”

The brunette shrugged languidly with a small grin.

“He's gettin’ better, Jamie.”

Dainty fingers, with painted red nails came up to give Bucky's cheek a light pinch.

“He's lucky to have somebody like you. Can't be easy being a single dad,” Jamie replied, long, auburn curls falling to the side when she tilted her head.

“Sixteen years he's been doin’ it for, and I think he did a damn good job at it. Just wish there was more I could do for his own battles he's fighting,” Bucky sighed.

“Love and support will help him. It takes times,” she said, holding Bucky's card out to him.

“Yeah, I guess that's somethin’,” he mumbled.

With a silent farewell, Bucky slipped an extra twenty into the tip jar, winking at Jamie and receiving a mouthed _‘thank you’_ in return. He turned away from the counter, narrowly missing a customer who had just walked in, their eyes giving Bucky a once over before deciding not to make a remark at him. It was best that they didn't, Bucky didn't need any trouble, not today of all days. Part of him was glad Brock went outside, if Brock were there things might have been different. Brock was a little more vocal towards people looking at him or his friends the wrong way.

Pulling the door open with a hefty yank, Bucky sauntered out of Jamie’s, amidst the beginnings of the lunch rush house, relieved he'd picked a decent time for himself and Brock to get lunch. Sometimes the chaos didn't suit both of their laid back personalities, rushing strange to them, though Bucky only made an exception for work. He caught Brock out the corner of his eye, leaning against his Camaro, cigarette in hand and hair blowing all over the place from the change of direction in the wind. Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets while walking over to his friend, only bringing one hand out to gesture towards Brock to sacrifice a cigarette. Brock only frowned with a shake of his head.

“Last one kiddo. Wanna’ share?” he spoke up, taking a long drag then handing it over to Bucky.

“No fair. This is the third time I've had to share.”

Brock rolled his eyes.

“Tryin’ to cut down, remember.”

“Oh, right,” Bucky exhaled, with a puff of smoke following after.

“Thanks for lunch today. Was good to get outta’ the house.”

“Babe, y’know I'll make time for you, work or not,” he chimed, swinging his arm around Brock's shoulders.

One of Brock’s arms looped around the back of Bucky’s neck, the other to his waist, before pulling him in, enveloping him in a tight embrace. Bucky reciprocated by holding Brock tighter to him, one hand running up and down his back in a comforting manner. It wasn’t new to him to have that mutual affection with Brock, he’d seen his friend hit rock bottom more times than he could count. And a hug... _a hug_ meant so much even when it seemed so little.

“I love ya’ y’know that, yeah?” Brock asked.

“I know Rummy, I love you too buddy.”

“You better go to work, you’re already runnin’ late,” he chuckled, dropping his arms back to his side.

“Shit, you’re right. Fuck. Thor’s gonna’ kick my ass.”

Brock threw his head back with a laugh, arms crossed over his chest as he leant back against the car again.

“I’d pay to see that.”

“I bet you would, asshole. Are you still doin’ that fight on Saturday?” the brunette inquired, stubbing his cigarette out to toss in the trash.

“Yeah. This is the first one Nic is gonna’ see too. I don’t want him to freak out though, ‘cause I told him I might get a few hits laid on me.”

“It’s boxing, it’s gonna’ happen. Don’t worry, I’ll be there,” he assured him.

“Thanks. C’mon, get to work, you’ve got a damn album to finish. Don’t make me chase you back there,” Brock warned.

“Alright, alright. I'm goin’.”

The pair exchanged a quick kiss on the cheek and another hug, Brock's mouth forming an affectionate smile when Bucky smiled back at him. He watched the brunette slip into the crowds, blending in and disappearing around the corner, leaving Brock to his own devices. It felt stupid to Brock how lonely he suddenly felt not having Bucky there. Growing up, someone in his family was always around for him to talk to, he desired company more than he let on. Although he had Nic, sometimes the length of time they spent together lately became shorter, what with Nic in school, and Brock's shifts at work.

Brock tapped his fingers against his jacket, as he meandered around to the driver’s side of the Camaro and down into the plush seat with a relieved sigh. He took his phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, then swiped through several contacts to find the number for the one person who Brock relied on the most for advice, besides Bucky. She was Brock's role model and guiding light as a kid, and still was now, as an adult.

_“Hello?”_

“Hi, nonna. It's me.”

_“Who is me?”_

He tried to stifle a laugh, yet failed in doing so when his Nonna started laughing also.

“It's Brock.”

_“Ah, my gorgeous nipote. How are you?”_

“I'm okay. I was havin’ lunch with Bucky. Are you gonna’ be home later? Around 5pm?”

_“Si, I will be here.”_

“Can I drop by for a visit?”

There was a long pause on the other end, then the sound of a door closing as Brock waited patiently for her reply.

_“You do not visit on a Wednesday. Is everything okay?”_

“Yeah, I just...really need someone to talk to. I mean, I did talk to Bucky ‘bout some things, but he had to go back to work. So I didn’t get everythin’ off my chest.”

_“Well you can come here any time you want, it doesn’t have to be at that time.”_

“I gotta’ go spend time with Nic first, some kid started a fight with him at school and knocked him out. He was at the hospital gettin’ checked out, he’s fine though.”

_“That is awful! Why would they do that? You must bring Nic with you, I would love to see him again.”_

“Sure, if he’s up for it. I dunno’ how he’s feelin’ right now.”

_“Alright, I’ll see you soon. I will make some ossobuco and cannoli for you.”_

Brock smiled to himself.

“You don’t need to do that.”

_“No, no. You need a good meal to cheer you up.”_

“You’re the best. I better get goin’, say hi to nonno for me.”

_“I will. I love you.”_

“Love you too, nonna.”

As soon as the call ended, Brock fired off a text to Nic while turning the key in the ignition. He multi tasked and put the stereo on, volume loud to circulate through the whole car. Brock slid his sunglasses down over his eyes, shielding them from the bright glare of the afternoon sun through the windshield. Joan Jett blared out of the speakers as Brock pressed the buttons down for the windows, eyes scanning the road ahead and behind him.

He stopped when he looked into the wing mirror to see the guy he was checking out in the diner earlier. Rollins (as he was supposedly called), was hunched over the hood of an Acura NSX, frustration etched on his face and fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Brock glanced at the time on his phone, he didn't need to rush to get home, he could spare a few minutes to see what was wrong with the guy. So he killed the engine and stepped back out of his car, keys jingling in his pocket as he jogged up to the other car.

“Hey, you alright buddy?” he spoke, startling he who had no proper name that Brock knew of yet.

“Uh, not really. I kinda’ locked my keys in my car...”

Brock snorted loudly, which only got him a hard stare in return from tall, dark and handsome...that was undoubtedly the hottest stare Brock had received in a _long_ time.

“Sorry, that was rude. What’s your name?”

Yet another questionable stare was thrown his way.

“Rollins.”

 _What the fuck, it actually is Rollins, or he's playin’ me_ Brock said to himself.

“Okay, Rollins. I'm Rumlow.”

Two could play at the same game.

“Bit of a strange first name,” he stated.

“Says the guy with a name that sounds like the brand of a watch,” Brock retorted.

Rollins grinned so wide that Brock wanted to kiss the fuck out of him, as inappropriate as it sounded, considering they were merely acquaintances. Not that Brock gave a shit, he was hot close up, smack bang in front of Brock in all the goodness that he had.

“It’s actually Jack, Rollins is my last name.”

He could have internally sighed if he really wanted to, but Brock knew he’d end up doing it audibly, so decided against it. _Jack Rollins,_ it seemed to fit so well for the man standing in front of him.

“I’m Brock. So do you want me to get your keys out for you, or are you gonna’ stand and mope all day?” he asked.

“As long as it doesn't involve breakin’ any windows, I just got ‘em replaced last week.”

Brock quirked an eyebrow.

“Why would anyone want to do that to a car like this?”

“Tell that to some guy who thought I was sleepin’ with his husband and smashed _all_ of the windows,” Jack answered.

“Jesus, how did he come up with that accusation?”

“Mistook me for my neighbour who was actually sleepin’ with that guy’s husband,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry that’s just real funny to me,” Brock laughed, as he covered his mouth. “I ain’t helpin’ am I?” he added.

“Honestly, I thought it was funny, so feel free to laugh ‘bout it.”

Brock’s eyes met Jack’s as he shrugged his jacket off and handed it to him, trying to hold back a smirk when Jack’s eyes darted elsewhere. He scanned his eyes over the car, hands resting on his hips which pulled his shirt tighter to his arms, earning another observant look from Jack. Even if he was discreet about it, Brock could see him very clearly out of the corner of his eyes.

“Look, goin’ with the fact that this is a sports car, it’d be tough to try anythin’ to open the lock.”

“Shit,” Jack cursed, combing his fingers through his hair to push it out of his face.

“You could either call somebody with more experience and wait, or you could sacrifice a window...again.”

“I can’t wait, I gotta’ get back to work for a meeting,” he groaned.

“Wait, are any of your windows open? Even just a little?” Brock questioned.

Jack glanced through to the passenger side window.

“Passenger side one is.”

“Alright, stay here,” he said.

Brock hurried back to his car then opened the trunk, before pulling a shirt off a metal hanger and tossing the shirt back in a bag. As he made his way back to Jack, he bent the hanger out and hooked one end of it to put inside the car. Jack watched with uncertainty while Brock put the hooked end of the hanger through the window, sliding it down until it touched the lock on the inside.

“I’m gonna’ try and pull the lock up.”

Jack strayed from the activity inside the car to stare at Brock, concentration spread across his face as he chewed down on his bottom lip. He couldn’t help but smirk at the hushed obscenities that Brock elicited, until his eyes widened a fraction.

“Brock?”

A triumphant smile broke out on Brock’s face when he ducked down and reached in to unlock the driver side door, grabbing the keys out of the ignition. He sauntered over to Jack, juggling the keys in his hand before dropping them down on Jack’s open palm with a grin. Jack grinned back at him as he offered Brock his jacket back, hands immediately sliding into his pant pockets.

“Thanks, you saved me time and a window,” he hummed, catching Brock’s gaze again.

Brock shrugged lazily.

“I’ll offer to help anyone.”

Jack beamed at him.

“The world could use more people like you.”

 _Don’t start fuckin’ blushin’_ Brock scolded, mentally.

“I feel like I owe you,” Jack spoke up, drumming his fingers on the car door.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I mean we could...y’know, go somewhere for a drink or somethin’ whenever we’re both free,” he suggested.

Tempting as the offer was, Brock’s conscience got the better of him, that inner voice which told him to forget it.

“Thanks, but...it’s not really somethin’ I do with people I just met, sorry,” Brock apologised.

“Oh, that’s alright, I’m sorry for bein’ forward.”

“It’s nothin’ personal, Jack,” he assured, glancing down at the ground, briefly.

“Don't stress ‘bout it, I understand.”

Brock’s gaze fell on Jack’s again, leaving them locked in a staring contest, while standing awkwardly and trying to figure out where to go next. He couldn't help roaming his eyes over Jack's face for the second, or maybe the third time in the short stretch of time they'd become acquainted with each other. Green eyes pierced deep into cooper brown eyes that caught the sun and shined like glossy caramel, making it seemingly impossible for either of them to break the connection. Jack's mouth was set into a relaxed smile, drawing Brock's attention there, his mind running on its own with thoughts that bordered on obscene.

“I should go,” they echoed, barely in unison and sounding like broken records.

Of course, Brock had to awkwardly laugh, coming out more like a nervous giggle which only made him red in the face.

“I'm pretty late for my meeting now. So I guess I really gotta’ go, now,” Jack mumbled, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

Brock did feel bad for the guy, but his conscience just wouldn't let up on allowing him to take Jack up on the offer of a drink.

“It was nice meetin’ you Brock,” he chimed.

“Likewise, Jack.”

Out of instinct and complete disregard of all sense of what was happening, Brock leaned in and pressed a kiss to Jack's cheek, despite Jack only moving in to give Brock's hand a shake. Brock froze in his spot, panic crashing over him like a tidal wave, before he started stammering incoherent words as he stepped away from Jack.

“I- _fuck_ -I'm sorry. That wasn't-” Brock paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I gotta’ go. Try and not lock yourself out the car again.” he added.

He could hear Jack calling his name, but his legs only directed him back to the safety of his car, after clumsily hitting his knee off a bench first. Brock repeatedly hit his head off the steering wheel, chanting curse words under his breath that were obviously directed at himself.

“Try and not lock yourself out the car again,” he mocked.

Peering into the rear view mirror, Brock saw no sign of Jack, or his car where he was minutes ago. A big weight of regret fell on Brock's shoulders as he started his car and pulled out onto the road, knuckles turning fight while grasping the wheel.

“You sure know how to make a great first impression,” he grunted, to himself.

Brock slowed down at the lights when they turned red, tapping his fingers against the wheel, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He'd yet again let something slip away from him because of his aggravating inner voice. As much as it pained him to think it, there was no chance that he'd ever meet Jack again, he'd have to be okay with that.

_Truth is, deep down...he wasn't._

* * *

**May 17th**

The  _Redwing Bar_  was packed on Friday night after word got around that Bucky would be there to sing at someone’s birthday party. Brock had been on his feet for most of the night, with a small break once in awhile. He loved his job, but sometimes busy nights knocked it out of him, to the point where all he wanted to beg for was his bed. Bucky was up on stage, practically serenading the audience around him with an acoustic edition of one of his own songs. Brock had to admit that it was a soothing song, and Bucky’s voice was mellow and sweet when he sang it.

“So you didn’t even give him your number?”

Brock sighed inwardly as he turned his head to look at Sam, who was leaning against the back wall of the bar, his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“C’mon Sam, really? It’d be weird,” Brock answered.

“Weird how?”

“Like _‘hey we just met and we don’t know each other, but can I grab your number’_ weird,” he retorted.

“That’s how some good relationships start, Brock,” Sam said, earning a questionable eyebrow raise from Brock.

“You’re just sayin’ that ‘cause that’s how you and Rogers met.”

“Does it look like I regret askin’ Steve for his number when we first met?” he asked.

“No…”

Sam smiled with a quick shrug.

“Then what’s holdin’ you back?”

Brock picked up a dish towel and started drying glasses sitting on a rack, his gaze falling down to discarded fruit wedges in the sink. He didn’t know how to answer Sam’s question in a way that sounded right. Nine times out of ten he resorted to the same answer that he always gave everyone.

“A lotta’ things,” Brock murmured. “Most of it’s just ‘cause of me holdin’ back. I can’t shake it off, I always feel like I’m not gonna’ make it work,” he added.

“You need to give yourself a chance. Take a leap of faith, y’know?”

All Brock could do was smile weakly in response.

“He was a really nice guy... “

“If you’re lucky, you might see him again. These things happen,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, _if_ I’m lucky. Which ain’t likely.”

“I wouldn’t give up now. Bucky always says you’re doubting your age too,” he chided.

“I’m in my forties Sam, it just feels too late for me I guess,” Brock uttered.

Sam gently nudged Brock with his elbow.

“My mom is in her fifties and she got married last year, for the second time. It’s never too late for love and happiness man.”

Brock’s mouth twitched up at the corner.

“Bucky said the same damn thing ‘bout his fifty nine year old aunt. Your mom deserves it...I don’t,” he murmured.

“You’re impossible sometimes, I’m gonna’ go serve these people that are at the other end of the bar. I’ll be back.”

Without so much as a glance in Sam’s direction, Brock set about wiping the bar down, condensation falling onto the rubber mats below his feet. He looked over at Bucky on the stage, the lights dimmed down to fit the mood of another song he'd moved onto. Bucky’s hands were clasped around the mic, his head hung low as a slow, bassy rhythm from Bruce’s bass guitar, some heavy chords from Clint’s electric guitar and a dull beat from Thor’s drum kit filtered through the room. Brock was always pleased when Bucky would sing his favourite song, he knew it as one of the many ways to cheer Brock up.

 _I watched you change_  
_Into a fly_  
_I looked away_  
_You're on fire_

Despite being mesmerised by Bucky’s voice, he put his attention back on his bartending duties, after noticing somebody shift in the crowd of guests. They sauntered over to the bar at a casual, relaxed pace, as if in time with the music. If anything, it went so well with the music, it appeared sensual to Brock. Mostly like when someone used to catch his attention from across the room at a club and make their way over to him. Those were the days where Brock felt _young, alive_ and _free._ However, at that moment, right then and there...Brock noticed a familiar face.

 _I watched a change in you_  
_It's like you never had wings_  
_And you feel so alive_ _  
_ I have watched you change

Unable to tear his gaze away, Brock kept his eyes on Jack, gawking like he was staring at a beautiful piece of art. Jack's entire attire screamed _bad boy,_ a completely different change from the sophisticated vibe he was giving off two weeks ago. Even the fact that he was just _there,_ put Brock into a brief state of disbelief. Sam only said about ten minutes ago that he might be lucky to see Jack again, that these things happened. _What were the chances?_

Jack looked _too_ fucking hot in his leather jacket and denim jeans, his hair still slicked back, yet with one side carelessly falling over his forehead to rest against his cheek. The scar on his chin was slightly masked by rough, dark stubble and his green eyes stared back at Brock, specks of blue showing under the lights above the bar. If anyone was lost for words...it'd be Brock. Part of him was in shock from the fact that he was seeing Jack again, the other because he was very fucking rugged and sexy with his new look. All Brock had to do was try and calm his down down from doing anything drastic.

“Jack.”

 _God,_ he sounded like he'd swallowed all of his confidence up from when he first met Jack. _How could he be like this the second time to sound so pathetic and nervous?_

“I guess we’re havin’ that drink then, Brock,” Jack teased.

Brock belted out a loud laugh.

“Smartass, I'm workin’.”

“Don’t you get breaks?” he questioned.

“You tryin’ to get me fired?” Brock retorted.

Jack grinned widely.

“Just messin’ around, that’s all.”

“What can I get you?” he asked, dragging the dishtowel off his shoulder.

“I’ll take a G and T, cosmopolitan, whisky on the rocks and a mojito, thanks.”

Brock cocked an eyebrow as he grabbed a martini glass from the racks above him, then a rocks glass and two highball glasses from the one underneath the bar.

“You gonna’ drink these all on your own?”

“Now who’s bein’ a smartass. I’m here with friends,” Jack chuckled. “But, can I get the cosmopolitan without the alcohol, one of my friends, she’s pregnant,” he added.

“Sure thing. Are you included in the birthday party crowd?”

“Yeah, that singer’s pretty good. What’s his name again?” he replied.

Both of their gazes went over to Bucky who was still singing, his eyes meeting Brock’s before he shot him a quick smile his way.

“That’s Bucky, he’s my best friend.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“His voice is great.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty fuckin’ amazin’,” Brock said, carefully pouring some cranberry juice into the martini glass.

“Actually, while you’re at it, can you throw in a blow job as well.”

Brock’s eyes widened a fraction while he poured out a measure of whisky over some ice, before leaning against the bar.

“What kind are we talkin’ about here?”

Jack’s smirk was sending all kinds of messages to several parts of Brock’s body, so much so he had to find the will in himself to keep himself composed. It was a good thing the bar was freezing cold for keeping the number one member of the _‘Brock needs hot, wild sex’_ club under the radar.

“The shot,” Jack answered.

“Jeez, gettin’ my hopes up Jackie.”

“Be careful what you wish for, Rumlow,” he whispered, propping his arms up on the edge of the bar.

Even though his tone was joking, with a side of shameless flirting, Brock didn't expect _that_ kind of response from Jack. _This guy,_ he had everything about him that Brock liked in a person, ultimately he had a few things that were yet to be discovered. But the instant connection between them didn’t go unnoticed, as if they were reading the other’s thoughts inside their head. Yet, Brock remembered how he’d straight out declined Jack’s offer to meet up for a drink, or two. For all he knew, Jack may have only wanted to thank him for helping him out, and that would be that.

Sam’s words were still fresh in his mind aswell, bothering him like an irritating itch that came and went. Although, in a sense he was right with what he said to Brock. _What was holding Brock back? How would he know the outcome of something possibly worthwhile if he didn’t try?_ Jack had already passed in making him smile and laugh, only making Brock curious as to what else he could do. He seemed like an open book that Brock was interested in reading, word for word.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Brock spoke up, snapping himself back into reality and out of his headspace.

Jack smiled broadly.

“You could hold yourself against me, that could work too.”

“Smooth bastard aren’t you?” he drawled, smirking at the shrug Jack gave him in return.

He turned around to pull a box of shot glasses from the shelves, while Jack’s eyes nonchalantly roamed downward, masking his grin with his hand.

“I like the view.”

Brock’s shoulders slumped as he shook his head with a laugh. He looked back at Jack, who was staring back at him, before sending a wink his way. Playful flirting wasn’t normally Brock’s way of approaching people he felt a fraction of attraction for. But it easily caught Jack’s attention, so Brock decided to go along with it.

“Bet you are, smartass.”

“Is that my new nickname now?” Jack quizzed.

“Yeah, do you like it?”

“Maybe, but I like you better,” he hummed.

“Likewise, Jack,” Brock mused.

Facing Jack again, Brock placed the four drinks on a tray, clearing space for the shot glass and the liquor required to make it. Jack watched intently while Brock poured each element of the shooter into the glass, and occasionally lifting his gaze to look at the concentration on Brock’s face.

“When’d you get the tattoo?”

Brock paused and peered up at Jack under hooded eyes.

“Last year before Christmas.”

He slid his hand under his shirt, before hiking it up to reveal the tattoo covering a small portion of his lower back, leading down to the waistband of his pants.

“It’s down on my hip too and on my thigh.”

Jack swallowed thickly, then averted his eyes, focusing back on Brock’s.

“What’s it all about?”

“I own a garage...for mechanic work, I don’t just work here. I’ve grown up with a love for cars, so I got this design of anythin’ mechanical and my friend Steve tattooed it on me. His studio is right next to my garage,” Brock explained.

“It looks great.”

“It’s one of my favourites. You got any?” he asked.

The shy laugh from Jack threw Brock off his task, eyes carefully watching Jack lifting the back of his shirt to reveal the edge of a wing.

“I’d show you more but I can’t take my shirt off here can I. When I was growin’ up I loved everythin’ about mythology and I used to study it after school a lot of the time. So I have a few tattoos related to that. The one I just showed you is a creature I got told about as a kid, my parents are Polish, so it’s an old Polish legend of a dragon and-” Jack paused, with a sudden sullen look on his face. “...I guess it’s a tattoo I wanted to get in memory of them because they _always_ told me the story, even if I asked them all the time,” he continued.

Brock cautiously reached out to place his hand on top of Jack's, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry.”

Jack smiled softly.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, they both had happy, full lives.”

“You know what I mean. I'm sure they're pretty proud of you though,” Brock soothed, earning a curt nod from Jack.

“So, I'm pretty sure we’ve been here talkin’ for a long time and my friends are gonna’ be wonderin’ where I am.”

“Shit, you're right, this is takin’ too long,” he grumbled, while fumbling to get the whipped cream from the fridge under the bar.

Brock moved his hand in a circular motion above the shot glass to create a perfect spiral of whipped cream, tensing then relaxing when it didn't topple over. He put the shot glass on top of the bar and carefully slid it over to Jack, a pleased expression gracing his face.

“Here's your blow job.”

Jack snorted loudly.

“I'm gonna’ need a bigger mouth,” he joked.

“Oh c’mon it ain't that bad, it'll fit.”

Jack’s eyes darkened slightly.

“I really hope you two aren't talkin’ about what I think you are.”

Bucky sauntered up to the bar and sat down on one of the barstools, looking back and forth between Brock and Jack with narrowed eyes.

“No, we aren't talkin’ about our junk,” Brock huffed out.

“Out of context conversations are the worst to walk into.”

Brock rolled his eyes as he grabbed a glass and held it under a beer tap, quickly filling it with Bucky’s favourite beer, before handing it to him.

“Thanks gorgeous,” he crooned.

“No problem handsome,” Brock shot back, with a sly wink.

Bucky grinned behind his glass.

“So can I ask what you were talkin’ ‘bout anyway?”

“Nothin’ I was just givin’ him a blo-I-I mean...makin’ him a blow job shooter,” Brock rambled.

His best friend spluttered a laugh into his drink.

“You're not makin’ this any easier on yourself.”

“Kiss my ass,” he rebuked.

“I'll leave that to your new friend here,” Bucky said, tilting his head in Jack's direction.

“Bucky!”

“It's fine,” Jack interjected, “I'm Jack,” he greeted, holding his hand out to Bucky.

“Bucky, but you probably already figured that out,” the brunette replied, with a kind smile.

Jack’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, your band is awesome. I love your music, covers included.”

Bucky side eyed Brock, while wiggling his eyebrows at him.

“Brock he's cute.”

“Stop flirtin’ with my customers,” Brock muttered.

“Jealous.”

“You two please, sharin’ is caring,” Jack taunted.

“I wish. Sorry good lookin’, I'm attached,” Bucky sighed, giving Brock a pathetic, sad expression.

Jack stared blankly at the pair, his mouth formed into a small _‘o’_ shape.

“I didn't realise you two were...together.”

“Oh! God, no. We’re not datin’, I'm with that guy over there.” he snickered, pointing across the room to Johnny, who was talking to Clint.

A frown crossed Brock’s brow as he loosely folded his arms across his chest, mildly offended by Bucky’s reaction.

“I’m right here.”

Bucky smirked in amusement, before leaning forward and lightly stroking Brock’s cheek.

“Babe, you’re beautiful but you’re no Johnny Storm.”

“And you’re a dick,” Brock scoffed.

“You’re so sweet Rummy. I better get back onstage, it was nice meetin’ you Jack.”

“You too Bucky. Show ‘em what you’re made of,” Jack encouraged, while giving Bucky’s shoulder a friendly pat.

Brock busied himself with arranging the other drinks on the tray, then lifted it to balance it on his hand, eyes falling on Jack again.

“You gonna’ hurry up and take your blow job, then I can bring these drinks over for you and your friends.”

Jack smiled like the Cheshire cat and picked up the shot glass.

“I didn’t get offered one.”

Brock’s eyes fluttered closed as he shook his head, with an exasperated sigh to follow.

“You’re exhaustin’ me bello.”

“So I’ve got two nicknames now, Jackie and bello?” he asked.

“You’re lucky I like you or you wouldn’t have any nicknames,” Brock countered.

Jack’s eyes widened a fraction to emphasise the surprised look on his face.

“You like me huh?”

Brock shrugged.

“Starting to.”

He jerked his head down to the shot, silently ushering Jack to hurry up. As much as he wanted to stand around and talk, the bar was still busy and Sam would probably be pissed if he started slacking off. Yet, it didn’t help observing Jack do the shot in the way it’s meant to be had, hands behind his back, using his mouth only. It was distracting, in fact, and Brock could just _feel_ Sam’s eyes on him without even looking. Then again, Sam was the one encouraging him to take his chances with Jack, while putting all doubts aside.

Jack looked pleased with himself when he grabbed the empty shot glass and put it back down on the bar with a soft _‘clink’._ Brock stifled a chuckle as he walked through the opening of where both bars were, gesturing with his free hand for Jack to lead the way. He followed close behind Jack, maneuvering between customers, the tray still sitting steadily on the palm of his hand. For what it was worth, he was having a great time checking Jack out.

“I like the view,” he mocked, from Jack’s comment that was made earlier.

Jack’s head turned to the side where Brock could see a glint in his eye, before he winked with a devilish smirk.

“I ain’t bothered.”

Brock had to hide his smile when they approached the table by the open windows of the bar, placing the tray on the table to safely hand the drinks to Jack’s friends. He lifted the non-alcoholic Cosmopolitan, only to stop short upon seeing who it was for.

“Hi gorgeous.”

“Ciao bella,” Brock greeted.

She stood up from her chair to envelope Brock in a warm embrace, his arms snug around her waist as he buried his face in her flouncy red curls.

“It’s so good to see you.”

“I thought I might come and see my favourite boy,” she crooned, pulling back to press a kiss to Brock’s cheek.

“I’m older than you remember.”

Natasha laughed as she cupped Brock’s cheek.

“You’re still my boy.”

“Yes mom,” Brock joked, earning a light slap on the chest from Natasha.

“How are you holding up? How’s Nic?”

“Nic’s fine, he’s stayin’ out of trouble. And I’m doing okay, I guess...” he murmured, averting his eyes from Natasha.

Her hand came up to take Brock’s chin between her fingers, turning his head back so he was looking back at her again.

“Don’t lie to me Дорогой,” she whispered.

Brock sighed weakly.

“Can we talk ‘bout this when we aren’t here?”

“Okay. Breakfast one morning? I’m free on Tuesday,” Natasha said.

“Tuesday’s good.”

Natasha nodded with a smile as she sat back down, before Brock turned back to face Jack.

“How do you know Nat?” he interrogated, keeping the tone of his voice void of all curiosity.

“She’s my masseuse,” Jack responded, after drinking down most of his drink. “I get back pain a lot and her deep tissue massages always work for me,” he added.

There was some form of jealousy suddenly plaguing Brock’s mind in that moment. Professional, as a masseuse may be, the thought of Natasha kneading and caressing her hands over Jack’s bare back, was enough to wake the green-eyed monster. But he barely knew Jack, there wasn’t any reason for him to feel that way, he himself knew how good Natasha’s massages were.

“No kiddin’. I get aromatherapy massages from her.”

Jack tilted his head to the side a little.

“Really? What are they like?”

“Like a Swedish massage, but with essential oils added instead of a basic lotion. The aroma helps you relax,” Brock explained.

“I might ask for one of those next time.”

“You should, trust me you’ll thank me for it,” he mused.

“I can think of a lot of ways to thank you,” Jack tempted.

Brock drew in his bottom lip with his teeth as he gazed down at the floor.

“I’m gonna’ get back to the bar, customers to serve, drinks to make.”

Tucking the tray under his arm, Brock turned to leave, but halted when he felt a tug on his belt, holding him back from walking any further. Peering back over his shoulder, Jack pulled him back towards him, leaving barely any space between them when Brock faced him. They were almost chest to chest if Jack hadn’t been holding his hand up, flashing two twenty dollars bills in front of Brock.

“Forgot your tip.”

Brock let out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

“Don’t need a tip.”

Jack held a finger up to Brock’s lips, while sliding the money into the gap between Brock’s belt and jeans. .

“I don’t wanna’ hear it. Take it, you’ve earnt it.”

It’d been a long time since Brock felt his heart beat as fast as it did because of something that didn’t involve working out at the gym. Everything about Jack, from his charm to how he touched him, it stirred feelings in Brock that he hadn’t welcomed in years. He’d told himself that if he ever met Jack again he’d know how to act around him, yet the truth was he still didn’t. Jack literally left him fucking speechless at the times where Brock actually wanted to be snarky in return. _How did somebody have that trait to render someone speechless so easily?_

“Thanks Jack,” Brock mumbled.

As he walked back to the bar, Brock received a knowing look from Sam, who finished serving four customers in the time it took Brock to stop talking to Jack and get back to his job. He shot a pleading look at him not to say anything, but Brock knew there would be a jab from him here and there. With a sigh he slid the tray back onto the pile with the others, before fishing the tip that Jack gave him out from his belt and dropping it into the tip jar.

“Hey,” Sam spoke. “Take that outta’ there,” he ordered.

Brock raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“It’s a tip.”

Sam plucked the money back out of the jar, then gently slapped it back down in Brock’s palm.

“I know, but it’s _your_ tip.”

“Sam, I can’t do that,” Brock sighed.

“Man, shut the hell up, you bust your ass here. And I’ve always said, any tips given to employees personally, they’re all theirs. Anything in the jar goes towards your paychecks anyway, depending on who works the shift.”

Brock threw his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, I’ll take the damn tip. Can’t win with you can I?”

Sam grinned smugly.

“Well, I am your boss.”

“You don't say,” Brock chided.

Picking up one of the glasses soaking in the sink, Brock flicked the dish towel off of his shoulder to clean the excess water off of the glass. He rubbed it around the rim of the glass, then down to the bottom, before running the towel along the grooves. His eyes were fixated on the festivities going on, but more specifically on Jack who was sitting down in the booth by the windows. Jack was bobbing his head to the upbeat rhythm of the music with his friends, with Natasha now on stage singing with Bucky. The way he looked so relaxed and carefree was something else that drew Brock to him.

“Brock, if you rub it any longer you better buy that glass a drink,” Sam interrupted, smirking at the scowl on Brock’s face..

Pietro sidled up to Brock, also drying out a glass as he nudged his hip against Brock’s.

“You like him huh? He is pretty good looking.”

“Get outta’ here you brat,” Brock huffed, shoving the younger man away with a playful shove.

“Come on old man, he might have the whole package.”

“Sam, help me out here,” he pleaded.

Sam held his hands out with a defeated look on his face.

“Can’t help you Brock, not this time.”

Brock threw a fresh lemon wedge at Sam who caught it then quickly tossed it back, smacking Brock square in the forehead. Laughter bubbled out of them as they discreetly started attacking each other with other pieces of fruit, some falling into the sink and others having to be kicked under the bar to clean away later.

“You’re wasting good fruit!” Sam exclaimed.

Someone cleared their throat closest to Brock, startling him as the slice of lime in his hand fell back into the bowl. He didn’t expect Jack to return to the bar so quickly, unless he’d thrown back his whiskey like it was flavoured water... _why else would he be there?_

“I forgot to give you somethin’ when I gave you your tip.”

“Uh. I- _you_ forgot somethin’?” Brock coughed, out of sudden nervousness.

Jack held out a folded napkin to Brock, his elbow propped up on the bar, the other hanging loosely on the edge of it.

“Just in case you wanna’ take up the offer of that drink.”

Brock took the napkin from Jack while hushed whispers went on behind him from Sam and Pietro. He unfolded the napkin to see numbers messily scrawled across it and _‘for my favourite bartender’_ written underneath them. How he was supposed to react was something Brock couldn’t find the will to think of at that time.

“Don’t think this’ll be the last time I see you, przystojny,” Jack said, in an enticing manner.

Left speechless for the second time, Brock stared only at Jack, even after he’d disappeared into the bathroom to the right of the stage. Sam had to click his fingers in front of Brock’s face to get some sort of response out of him, which was only a mere _‘huh?’_ as well as a distant look.

“Looks like you didn’t even need to ask.”

“I guess not…” Brock answered, still sounding confused by what happened.

“Hm, I haven’t seen you this dumbstruck with someone like when you first met Bucky.”

“I thought he was hot! Don’t blame me for that,” he grumbled, folding the napkin away into his back pocket.

“So are you gonna’ call him?” Sam asked.

Brock groaned in frustration, his head tilted back as he shook it slowly.

“I don’t know Sam. I’d appreciate it if everyone got off my back ‘bout it.”

“Brock, look, I’m sorry alright? Just...how you talked about him, you sounded _really_ interested,” he replied.

“I know that, I am interested. But I wanna’ be sure first, you know how I am these days with relationships.”

Sam firmly patted Brock on the back, while passing behind him.

“I get ya’. Don’t keep the poor guy waitin’ too long or without an answer though.”

Brock was left alone again, having heard Sam disappear into the storeroom, while Pietro had gone to attend to customers at the other bar. With a shaky exhale he fished the napkin back out of his pocket, staring down at the digits which may as well have waved back at him. He went for his phone next which sat in his front pocket, the screen lit up with a few messages from Nic and another from an app. Brock quickly replied to his son’s texts, informing him not to wait up for him, as he was sure he’d be leaving work later than usual.

The app message was one he didn’t want to deal with at work, but he couldn’t leave it idle for any longer. In a sense it was important, though not _that_ important that he needed to drop everything. Brock dealt with it anyway, flicking his thumb over the screen to open the app up, stepping back a little to lean on the counter behind him.

Brock only typed a brief reply.

He was glad it wasn’t going to be a long chat, simply one to check up on an engagement he’d organised for Sunday. It was over and done with within minutes, until Brock was left staring at his screen.

With a defeated sigh, Brock opened a new contact window on his phone and added Jack’s number. His finger hovered over the save button for a minute, before accepting the fact that he couldn’t chicken out of this one.

“Shit…” he exhaled.

Then, with some tiny ounce of courage he opened a new text message to type something that would give Jack an answer to his intentions. It was only when he saw Jack leaving, with Natasha in tow, that he deleted the message and sent something entirely different.

Jack replied, though Brock had tossed his phone into his bag sitting around the corner.

Brock didn’t know where this would take him, yet he knew he wanted it...so _fucking_ much.

* * *

**May 19th**

Brock jogged up the steps of the brownstone, soaked with sweat from his usual Sunday workout session with Bucky and Steve at the gym. His shoes were carelessly kicked to the side as he unlocked the front door and gently kicked it closed with his foot.

“Nic!”

He tossed his gym bag on the couch and dragged the towel around his neck over his face to wipe it down. The session had gone on for longer than Brock intended it too, leaving him with only a few minutes to spare before his _‘guest’_ arrived. He’d contemplated on whether he should shower or not, but decided to go with the former. To him it’d seem rude to not put in at least a _little_ effort to look half decent.

“Hey dad.”

Nic was leaning against the door to his bedroom, with a backpack and a guitar case sitting at his feet. Every one of Brock’s friends that had met Nic always mentioned how uncanny it was that he looked so alike to his father, only younger. Brock had to agree on that part, there was nothing appearance wise in Nic that resembled his mother, in fact his personality didn’t even go that far. As cruel as it sounded, Brock would prefer not to have reminders of his ex-fiance every time he’d glance over at his son, in a sense he was thankful. The topic was always sour to him, so most of the time nobody tried to push his buttons about it. Some things were better left unsaid, and Brock wanted to keep it that way.

“Hey buddy, you goin’ out?”

“Yeah, I was gonna’ go hang out with the twins. I might crash there too,” Nic said.

“Great! I mean...it’s just-”

“Someone’s comin’ over tonight I’m guessin’?” he questioned.

“Is it that obvious?” Brock chuckled.

His son shrugged with a smirk on his face.

“You don’t usually come straight home from the gym. Don’t you hit the showers and then go out for drinks with Bucky and Jo?”

Brock sighed inwardly.

“Yeah, but I can’t tonight. He’s gonna’ be here soon and I ain’t exactly showered or nothin’.”

“I get it dad,” Nic replied, as he swung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up his guitar. “Don’t take it the wrong way, it’s great you’re seein’ people, but I wish you’d settle down and actually find someone who makes you happy,” he added, before stopping in front of Brock.

“You’re my son, you make me happy pal.”

Nic smiled sadly.

“I know, but I’m not gonna’ be here forever. I’m growin’ up remember. Not sayin’ you gotta’ do it right away, just...you’re never happy no matter how many people you bring here. Uncle Bucky thinks you’re a relationship kind of person if you _try._ ”

“Where’d you get all this wisdom from kid?” Brock asked.

“The best person I know, my dad.”

“Go on, get outta’ here. Let me know when you get to the Maximoff’s. Remember what happened last time,” he cautioned.

“My phone ran out of charge. But I promise, I’ll text,” Nic assured, earning him a nod of approval from Brock.

“Good, go have fun.”

“Uh, I’d hug you but you’re all sweaty,” he griped.

Brock laughed as he pressed a kiss to Nic’s forehead and ruffled his hair, before ushering him over to the door.

“I might be back early in the mornin’!”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry you’ll be fine to come back then!” Brock called.

After the satisfying sound of the door clicking closed, Brock spared no time in hurrying upstairs to second level of the house to get ready. His bedroom was at the end of the hall, which he almost skidded past, given the fact that he still had socks on that were slippery on the hardwood floors. Several disheveled grunts later found Brock standing in the middle of the bedroom, shirtless and panting after struggling to get his stupid, tight gym shirt off.

The time on his computer showed that he had exactly ten minutes to be organised or else he’d have explaining to do. Brock threw his shirt into a clothes hamper, followed closely by his shorts, underwear and socks. He sauntered into the bathroom, immediately seeking out the shower that greeted him with cold water for a brief moment, much to Brock’s shocked gasp. Which only led him on a cursing frenzy as he scrubbed down his body with cocoa butter shower gel.

Brock stood under the spray to rinse it off, before lathering his hair with shampoo, unceremoniously getting some of it in his eye. But he didn’t have time to complain about it, though he also should’ve been wary that one wrong move might result in him sprawled out on the floor. Luckily for him the odds were in his favour and he made it through a brisk shower with no slip ups, besides the shampoo in his eye.

“Fuck, what am I gonna’ wear.”

Most of the time Brock didn’t care about what he was wearing whenever he invited somebody over for a ‘casual fuck’ as he deemed them. Yet, there just so happened to be a loud knock at the door as he towelled himself off. He didn’t have time for correct clothing choices now.

“Just a second!”

Brock yanked open the first drawer closest to him, grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt, then pulled them on as quickly as he could. Finding a minute to admire himself in the mirror wasn’t going to happen, he only hoped he didn’t look like a walking human disaster _and_ decent enough. Part of him internally panicked about going commando, but his jeans would likely end up on the floor by the end of the night anyway. This was literally the first time he’d ever been unorganised for something as simple as a one night stand.

Taking in a deep breath, Brock walked back downstairs to reach the front door, the shadow behind it shifting to face the door. He opened the door wide and was greeted by a warm smile that spread all the way to soft brown eyes. Brock was maybe a _little_ taken aback, he’d been with some good looking people, but the guy standing in front of him right now was dangerously fucking hot. It didn’t really help he had a neat beard to go with his smile, Brock _definitely_ wanted to feel that beard on his thighs. Or possibly all over...

“I hope that shirt won’t lie tonight.”

Brock glanced down at his shirt to see ‘No complaints (only moans)’ across his chest. _Of all the shirts I had to pick out_ he thought.

“Depends if you make me feel good or not,” he retorted.

“Ouch, that cut deep, you haven’t even given me a chance.”

The corner of Brock’s mouth curved up, forming a lopsided grin as he moved back to open the door wider.

“C’mon in Grant.”

“Nice little house you’ve got,” Grant stated, while stepping over the threshold.

“Thanks. It’s just a rental, but it’s home for now I guess.”

Grant nodded casually, before turning back to face Brock.

“I think you should’ve sent me a new picture of yourself when we started talking,” he said.

Brock stared back at Grant with a confused expression.

“Your profile picture doesn’t do justice for you.”

“What do you mean?” Brock inquired, his tone sounding mildly interested.

“You’re a lot better lookin’ in person.”

Laughter filled the room as they walked further into the house, stopping where the lounge room met the open plan kitchen. Brock leant against the back of one of the couches, keeping his eyes locked on Grant’s who was smiling smugly at him.

“You’re layin’ it on thick tonight.”

“We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet, babe,” Grant drawled.

Brock dropped his gaze to the floor with a snort, his arms crossing over his chest in a relaxed manner.

“I barely talk this much with other people I’ve hooked up with. And they don’t say anythin’ that you’ve been sayin’.”

“Guess I’m special,” he replied.

“I guess you are.”

Grant waved a bottle of wine in Brock’s face, white wine more specifically, possibly Italian too. Brock had put some minor details on his profile about what he liked to drink or eat, and Grant must have paid close attention to said details.

“I know you said just bring myself, but I figured we could have a drink first.”

“You’re lucky you brought good wine,” Brock hummed, taking the bottle in hand and heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“Well we’ve got all night for fun y’know.”

Suddenly, Brock grabbed Grant’s wrist when he reached into his pocket, with the edge of his wallet poking out from it. They stared at each other as silence fell over them, Brock appearing seemingly more panicked, and Grant being startled by his quick reflexes.

“I don’t work like that no more…” he muttered.

Grant’s eyes widened at the realisation.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“Whatever you hear goin’ around, ignore it. I gave that life up years ago,” Brock interrupted.

“People who know you, they were pretty vague about it. I shouldn’t have- _god_...I’m an idiot.”

Brock put the bottle down on the counter, then reached out and rested his hands on Grant’s arms, fingers smoothing over his leather jacket.

“Hey. Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s no big deal, just communication fuck ups.”

“I feel really bad, you looked worried when I reached for my wallet. Look, we don’t need to do this anymore. Or we can just talk over wine, I don’t care. The last thing I want is to make someone uncomfortable,” Grant rambled.

Two warm hands cupped Grant’s face, before he was urged in closer, meeting Brock halfway as their lips met for a chaste kiss. Grant’s hands found Brock’s waist almost immediately, drawing him in to bring them chest to chest, with his fingers digging into the soft fabric of Brock’s shirt. Brock angled his head to deepen the kiss, part his lips in sync with Grant’s and grasp the back of his neck gently.

He inhaled sharply through his nose upon feeling Grant’s teeth bite down his bottom lip with gusto. Brock pulled back briefly as a guttural moan slipped past his lips, prompting Grant to pin him against the kitchen counter. His hands roamed under Brock’s shirt to touch bare skin, hips pressing into Brock’s and bringing out more, quick, shaky moans from him. Brock’s head fell back to bare his throat, which Grant took as an invitation, brushing his lips over every sensitive part of Brock’s neck.

“ _Fuck._ ”

Grant chuckled low in his throat as he dropped his forehead down on Brock’s.

“This enough to make you feel good?”

“Better than good,” Brock breathed out.

“Then the shirt doesn’t lie then.”

Brock’s hands slid down to the lapels of Grant’s jacket.

“We should-” he paused, swallowing thickly. “...take this upstairs,” he continued.

“You’re opting out on that drink with me?” Grant asked, rubbing small circles in the curve of Brock’s back with his thumbs.

“No. We’re just gonna’ do it _my_ way.”

After grabbing the wine from the counter, Brock took Grant’s hand in his, then guided him over to the stairs, smirking as the wine swung loosely in his hand. Grant gave him a roguish grin in return, as his arm snaked around Brock’s waist, keeping him close while they scaled the stairs to Brock’s bedroom. Brock turned around as they approached the door, drawing Grant in for another kiss and backing them into the room. He placed the wine on a shelf so he could work on unzipping Grant’s jacket, throwing it haphazardly to the side with a satisfied smile.

“So what’s _your_ way huh?”

Brock steadily twisted the cap off the bottle, before taking a generous swig of wine and holding it out ot Grant.

“Just like that.”

Grant laughed heartily.

“Straight out the bottle, where’d all the class go.”

Brock scoffed and shook his head.

“I ain’t got no class at times like this. Or ever, really,” he drawled.

“Yeah? That’s fine by me,” Grant uttered.

He tugged the hem of Brock’s shirt upwards to take it off, discarding it on the bed, only to hear it fall to the floor with a light thud. Grant’s shirt was yanked off in haste by Brock, who then shoved him down on the bed and straddled his lap. Brock ran his fingers through his still damp hair, his hooded eyes staring down at Grant.

“I got the best view.”

Brock smiled widely as he rolled his hips slowly, watching Grant’s eyes roll to the back of his head, strong hands finding their way to grip at Brock’s hips. He bit down on his lip to hold back a moan, hands sliding up Grant’s torso to his chest, until Brock placed his hands on either side of Grant’s head, leaning down to let his breath ghost over the other’s lips.

“Less talkin’, more of this,” he purred, closing the distance between them.

Now fully comfortable with their surroundings, neither of them wasted time in getting their mouths on each other, the heat of the moment intensifying quickly. Brock let his tongue glide across Grant’s, teeth barely grazing his bottom lip as he squeezed his thighs tighter to Grant’s waist. A muffled groan sounded in the room from Grant, his hands now grabbing handfuls of Brock’s ass through his jeans. Brock’s hips rocked down again, punching out a throaty moan from him when his cock pushed tightened against his jeans.

Brock’s fingers worked on the button of Grant’s jeans, then his own, bringing both of them relief from the dull discomfort they were feeling. Grant threaded his fingers through Brock’s hair, breathing in sharply through his nose as Brock’s hand wrapped around his cock, giving a firm, well timed stroke for extra measure.

“Fuck, _yes,_ ” he ground out, with his forehead pressed to Brock’s.

Grant’s head fell back on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily from Brock pressing his thumb over the slit, while his other fingers teased the under of his cock. Brock could hear himself breathing heavily in his ears, as well as the rapid beating of his heart. There were some moments where Brock got carried away too easily, endorphins rushing through him too fast for him to deal with.

“Hey, slow down a second.”

Brock’s eyes were glazed over when he blinked rapidly, bringing himself down from the sudden rush, Grant’s hands running up and down his sides.

“Sorry. It’s been a few months.”

“Quit worryin’ about it,” Grant soothed, stroking his fingers on Brock’s lower back.

The gesture sent a tingle up Brock’s spine, his muscles giving a slight tremble, head hung low as he exhaled deeply.

“Look, we’ve got all night, okay. All _damn_ night.” he added.

A smirk spread across Brock’s face.

“I’m puttin’ all the blame on you.”

Grant’s eyes widened a fraction, one eyebrow rising up in question.

“That’s not fair.”

“It is now,” Brock said.

“How about we get out of the rest of our clothes and under these sheets. They feel real nice. Maybe I can show you where else my mouth is useful.”

“Fuckin’ asshole,” he groaned, in a joking tone.

In all honesty, Brock was ready for anything.

“I gotta’ lay down one rule though.”

“What’s that?” Grant murmured, while kissing down Brock’s neck.

Brock tilted his head to the side, sighing helplessly and allowing himself to be flipped onto his back, having Grant linger above him.

“Don’t go easy on me...”

* * *

**May 20th**

By morning, Brock was aching all over, yet in the best possible way. As he stared out at the view of Brooklyn from his balcony, sipping at a mug of coffee, he recounted everything that happened the previous night. He and Grant downed the bottle of wine, as well as a bottle of expensive whiskey that Brock kept for safe keeping in his bedroom. But all of that seemed to be overshadowed by the copious amounts of sex which followed their drinking escapade.

It was a good thing there’d been a forecast for cold temperatures the following morning, meaning Brock could wear a sweater to cover most of the evidence of last night. When Brock had told Grant not to go easy on him, he’d listened and he’d delivered. He wasn’t able to hide the light bruising on his bottom lip or the hickey underneath his jaw, for a lack of trying. Though, luckily for him he wouldn’t be at work until Thursday. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t go unnoticed by any of his friends he saw during the week. Which only reminded Brock that he was having breakfast with Natasha on Tuesday.

He knew she would ask questions, nothing ever slipped through her fingers, and Brock was always honest with her. It wasn’t that he was ashamed to be in the situation he was in, but more so for the fact that overtime he realised it didn’t make him as happy as it used to. Of course, he wouldn’t lie to himself, it was fun, though nothing became of it, which was what disappointed him the most. Nothing had been the same for him since the last serious relationship he thought he had. Walls were built up around him, only accessible by those closest to him, yet it never felt like enough. Deep down Brock wanted someone to be his best friend...not just somebody to love

Brock heard Grant fumbling around in the bathroom, before walking back into the bedroom, his heavy footsteps sounding on the hardwood floor. He should have left by now, and Brock was sure that Nic had already come home like he said he would. Downstairs he could hear the TV on at a low volume, though loud enough for him to confirm his suspicions that it was Nic. His son was the only one who watched the history channel on a Monday morning before school. Somehow he knew he wouldn’t be getting Grant out of the house quietly like he hoped he could.

“Morning.”

Grant joined Brock at the far end of the balcony, his hands coming to rest of the railing as he looked out at where Brock’s gaze still was. Brock picked up the mug of coffee on the table, then offered it to Grant, who took it gratefully.

“Mornin’.”

“How are you feeling?” Grant queried, while taking a long sip of coffee.

“Little achy, but good...real good.”

“That’s good to hear, I was a little worried,” he replied.

Brock snickered softly.

“‘Bout what? That I didn’t have a great time?” he asked.

Grant shrugged sheepishly.

“Hey, it happens.”

“Listen, last night was fun, with you. Most of the others I’ve organised this with would have left by now,” Brock said.

“Couldn’t leave without sayin’ goodbye. Just seems rude to me.”

Brock’s hand smoothed down a crease on Grant’s jacket as he looked straight at Grant, with a small smile on his face.

“Keep in touch yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” Grant assured, as he placed his hand on Brock’s back.

He brought Brock in to share a comforting embrace, feeling Brock’s body relax against him, their mugs of coffee a mere afterthought. Brock hated to admit it, but he was exhausted, no amount of coffee was going to keep him awake for much longer. Grant cupped the back of his neck, before tilting it back to press a chaste kiss to his lips, that were still cold from the chill of the morning cold snap.

“I think you need to go back to bed,” he suggested.

“Hmm,” Brock hummed, with a loud yawn following after.

Grant chuckled as he ushered Brock back into the bedroom and over to his bed.

“C’mon.”

“I made you breakfast,” he sighed, with disappointment in his voice.

“I’ll take it to go, I have work in an hour. Is that okay?”

Brock nodded sleepily.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Soft lips touched his forehead briefly before his head touched the pillow, the plushness drawing out a content murmur from Brock.

“See you later, big guy. Thanks for a good night,” Grant whispered.

Once the sound of snores filled the room, Grant took that as his time to leave, making sure to close the balcony doors and drag the sheets over Brock to keep him warm. He picked up his shoes from the floor and gently closed the door behind him, then made the journey down to the kitchen. Nic peered over his shoulder from the chair he was sitting on, watching Grant pick up a container sitting near the sink and depositing the breakfast Brock had left on a plate, into the container.

“Hey.”

Grant jumped slightly as he looked up from the food.

“Hey. You must be Brock’s son.”

“And I’m guessin’ you’re the guy he invited over last night?” Nic questioned.

“I’m Grant. Your _uh_ -your dad is sleeping. But you might wanna’ check on him in a couple of hours.”

“I’ll check on him before I go to school. Thanks for stayin’ with my dad, usually nobody stays so I gotta’ check on him a lot,” he said.

“No problem kid.” Grant chimed.

With one last look over himself to see if he had everything, Grant headed for the front door, tucking the container under his arm.

“Tell your dad thanks for the breakfast!” he called, exiting the house without waiting for a reply from Nic.

Back in his bedroom, Brock stirred slightly under the sheets, frowning when he heard his phone vibrate on the bedside table, waking him from his sleep. With a disgruntled complaint, he reached for it to read the text, somewhat surprised when Jack’s name stared him right in the face. It was only a simple text, a friendly good morning, but it was enough to send Brock’s thoughts running. He thought about how Jack brought up the offer of a drink again, how much he desperately wanted to say yes, but also about how unsure he was. Somewhere in his mind he told himself he’s not good enough for a man like him, Jack was something special, something different.

 _Maybe, just maybe, the charity auction would take his mind off Jack Rollins....the man he desired to have, but believed he couldn’t..._  


**Author's Note:**

> As always you can find me [here](http://x-crossbones-x.tumblr.com/)


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